1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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